What Goes On Inside
by lazaefair
Summary: Claire Standish: before, after, and ever after. Covers well worn territory, but I figured it would make good subject material for a test run Breakfast Club fic. Reviews desperately needed!
1. Before

_So, this is that much dreaded creature: a writer's first fic. You could call it my "test run" to see if I'm any good at this fanfiction business. So I want you all to REVIEW! Constructive criticism, flames, any kind of comment at all, so I know I'm allowed to continue this. Two more chapters to follow._

_All standard disclaimers apply. And without further ado:_

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I don't believe this. I canNOT fucking believe this.

I have Saturday detention. I, Claire Standish, the queen of the Shermer High student body and the top of the hierarchy in general, have Saturday DETENTION.

The home of the freaks and the geeks, and the criminals.

Oh my god, this isn't happening to me. I have to get out of this car and walk into the school. On a Saturday. This isn't right. School is for the weekdays. Not weekends. Not when I could be hanging out at the mall, checking out cute skirts and cute guys with my girls. I swear, I saw the perfect pair of heels in Ralph Lauren the other day, perfect for my prom dress, perfect for the princess…

Oh yeah. The other day. The day I got caught ditching class to go shopping. I mean, come on, it's not that big of a deal. It's not like I was ditching class to sell drugs or vandalize cars or something…criminal. Not like those punks that always hang around the back entrance or under the bleachers in the football field. I don't deserve this. I don't belong here. Everyone knows Vernon is a tyrant but he never touched me or my friends. We're above that. We're the town royalty, you shouldn't…can't…punish royalty. Hell, my mother has makes more money than he does and she doesn't even work. God!

Great, I have to get out of the car now. At least my dad is on a "spoil Claire" streak, probably to get back at Mom for that spat they had last night, which was probably about me. Then again, it could just as well be about her going to one too many parties, or about his young and beautiful secretary. I don't know, I don't care, I just want OUT of here.

...is that Andrew Clark? What's he doing in detention? He moves in mostly the same circles I do, being the catch du jour of the Shermer High female population and a great athlete to boot. Which means I'm going to have to show up in detention IN FRONT OF HIM and utterly humiliate myself. At least the freaks and criminals wouldn't tell, and nobody would believe them anyway, but to reveal that I'm being punished like a...a...commoner, to Andrew CLARK? I can see my steep fall from grace already.

Shit, today is going to be a long day.

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_Interesting? Boring? Love? Hate? Tell me what you think._


	2. After

_Chapter two! Review, pretty please?_

_All standard disclaimers apply. The third and final chapter will be following this one shortly._

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I can't believe this.

No, actually, I do believe this. I want to.

I want to always believe, and remember, my first kiss. My first real kiss.

He _kissed_ me. He kissed _me_.

_John Bender kissed Claire Standish today._

It's hours later, and when I close my eyes, I can still feel his long dark hair falling over my face. And then his lips...oh God. It was probably nothing especially spectacular to John, but it was my first. And I swear I will never, ever forget it, so help me God. I'll need that help.

Yeah, and now let's all ask, _"What the fuck is up with Claire?"_

I don't blame anyone for wondering. I wonder myself, and it hasn't even been six hours since the whole thing happened. Less than a day ago, I was the queen bee; like Brian wrote in his essay, a princess. I was uncomfortable to even think about being associated with a harmless brain like Brian, much less a badass criminal like John or a wierdo basketcase like Allison. Hell, I didn't even know Allison existed until she walked into the room, though that wasn't a big surprise. It seemed that John was the only one who really noticed her around school.

But still, compared to even Andy, I was the worst of the lot. At least Andy had some kind of macho thing going on that he could relate to John, in a really screwed up kind of way (bonding over a switchblade...heh...). Meanwhile, I? I was the queen bitch and I treated the others as such. At least John never let that bother him, he just kept hounding me and leading me on all day, probably just because he could and because it irritated me so much.

Except he was so successful in leading me on, I ended up in a closet with him. And, let me tell you, there was _a lot less _irritation going on in that closet than you'd think. Even after all that weird emotional shit that had happened all that day.

Though, to be honest, that weird shit is what...I don't know how to say it...it's what saved me. Or opened my eyes. Maybe it did both, or maybe it's the same all around.

Take Allison. She's really a beautiful girl, once she cleans up a bit. Got the most gorgeous eyes under that black shit...but then, thinking that way is what makes me so shallow and bitchy in the others' eyes, I guess. Andy saw her beauty, approached her as a person, before anyone had to clean her up. Not that she needed it to teach me what it was like to be lonely and labeled a freak, completely misunderstood. I'm happy for her and Andy, they both deserve it.

And Brian. Brian knows about pressure. He's still the geek, the Neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie as John so succinctly put it (come to think of it, John had all the best lines today...hmm...) but we've all accepted him as the smartest kid in the Club. He really is. He knew how to represent us in Vernon's stupid essay. He put into words what we all felt, but couldn't write.

And then there's Andy. Thinking back to how I thought about him this morning...no, I can't believe it. I saw him as another jock to impress, another one of my circle for whom I had to keep up my popular image, just because I thought he had the most potential to ruin...or enhance...my reputation. Oh god, how can anyone, even me, be so shallow? He poured out his heart today, all his fear and anger and passion, and I think he even convinced John that he, the real Andy, was so much more than just another dumb jock. I hope he finds the strength to stand up to his friends next week.

And John...John Bender. Even just thinking about him brings up this weird swirled up mixture of emotions. I hated him at the beginning of the day, I guess, for being so arrogant and devil-may-care and free to make fun of us Richies – and Vernon – as he pleased. He really wore on my nerves, like he'd set a target on me for the day, which he probably did. But then...then he let out that he'd been abused at home. And he sacrificed himself to get the rest of us back into the library.

And then he was a _complete jerk_ to me afterwards, right up to my pitiful lipstick cleavage trick. But I deserved it, I think, even if it hurt like hell to hear him rage at me after I said something especially shitty to all of them...I was beginning to value his opinion of me even then. And that opinion was none too high.

So why, why did he kiss me? I can't get off that moment. That wonderful moment in the sunset, when I didn't care who was around to watch, hell, I was ready to sacrifice all my former friends on a shrine to John...the whole Breakfast Club...if it came to that. Sure, I'd given him the kiss in the closet, and he'd – sort of – admitted that he liked me. And then he didn't reject my diamond earring when I gave it to him. He even put it on after I left, I saw him slip it in his ear. But still. The weird, emotional swirl dancing around in my stomach makes a few more flips, and I curl up as I wonder, _"Why? How could someone like John Bender want to kiss someone like me?"_

It's still weird, it's still uncertain. I don't know what to think about him. All I know is, _I_ didn't regret it.

Miracles happen after all, hnh? I was Princess at the beginning of the day, scornful of everyone below my station, and I was kissing John Bender, resident criminal, at the end of it. And loving every moment.

_OH GOD, _what if I can't resist my friends on Monday? What if I really am the shallow bitch they accused me of being? What if...

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_Waugh, that was two pages longer than I expected. So I fear that this monologue has been deadly dull and unoriginal. If it is, tell me! I need to know what I'm doing wrong._

_An explanation, sort of, for the radical shift in tone between Chapters 1 & 2: Claire has obviously undergone an emotional and intellectual change between her thoughts of the morning and thoughts of the evening; plus, she was angry and frustrated in the morning, which accounts for her spoiled brat attitude. I tried to make up for that in this chapter...I hope it was the right thing to do! Tell me what you think! ;;_


	3. Doubt

_Writing about the aftermath of Saturday detention has proved to be a larger task than previously planned, so this won't be the final chapter. Profuse thanks to all who have reviewed and I'm grateful for your kind encouragement. As always, continue reviewing!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

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There's a lot of disbelief going on right now. A lot of...I don't know what to call it. Shit, I hate this.

For one thing, it's raining, but I'm out in the parking lot of the mall, soaked to the bone, and you know what? I don't want to go back inside.

Yeah, I just heard myself. Claire doesn't want to be in the mall. An earthshaking event, go grab the paparazzi. Wanna know why I'm not in that place?

Well, who normally hangs out at the mall?

That's right, my friends. Soon to be former friends, if I predict correctly. And I do, because I'm the leader. I know them, how they operate. Hell, I'm the one who led by example. Fucking queen bitch, that's me. They're inside right now, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the latest perfume that came in. I don't even like perfume, but guess who led the charge over to the cosmetics department? Yeah, me. All part of the image. The _fucking_ image.

They think I'm in the bathroom, retouching my makeup. Or else I might have told them it was that time of month, I don't remember. I wasn't thinking too clearly when I bolted out of there. All I knew was that I had to get OUT. Away from the pressure to be the perfect prom queen candidate. The princess. The pinup girl for all the eligible jocks in school...well, Shannon is probably more of their fantasy, everyone knows she's not a cherry and she's got the most amazing boobs in Shermer, even jealous girls admit it. The point is – was there a point? I don't remember. It's cold out here, and I probably look like a lunatic, soaked and walking feverishly around the parking lot looking like I might implode any minute.

Yeah, it doesn't take a genius to figure out this isn't usually how I spend my Sunday evenings. I'm not one to be struck by panic attacks the day before Monday. I'm the fucking queen of Shermer High, what do I have to worry about?

Except I won't be royalty for much longer. Not if I'm seen in the company of a geek or a basketcase. Or...or...John.

It's funny, how less than two days ago, to me John was nothing but _the_ premier criminal of Shermer High. Rumors had him doing everything wild you could imagine, drugs, booze, sex, whatever. I didn't have any reason to disbelieve the stories...you're more ready to believe anything of someone you already think the worst of, right? And anyway, I didn't care. All I cared about was myself and my little gang, clothes and cosmetics, maintaining my status at the school.

God, I hate myself so much.

Anyway, it's been 27 hours since I saw anyone from the Breakfast Club. Since I saw John. And I don't see him as a criminal anymore, or at least not so much. I see him as the one who...who...I can't even express it. He made fun of me. He called me cherry, richie, bitch, he yelled at me, he did his best to rip me to shreds.

He told me the truth.

So there I was, standing at the cosmetics counter, gushing something idiotic to all my girlfriends (habit is so hard to break, isn't it? Seventeen years of habit, of brainwashing...) when John's words flashed across my mind, clear as if he were spitting them at me all over again.

"_You don't know any of my friends, you don't look at any of my friends and you certainly wouldn't condescend to speak to any of my friends so you just stick to the things you know, shopping, nail polish, your father's BMW and your poor rich drunk mother in the Caribbean!"_

"_YOU ARE A BITCH!"_

And then I had to get out of there. They were all too much like me. I was too much like them. Poor little group of empty airheads, princesses with nothing but shopping and nail polish to fill up their time. I don't even like perfume and anyway, I have enough at home. And fifty pairs of shoes. Hundreds of skirts and tops and cute outfits, the latest cosmetics to come down the line. And conceited little me, content to think of nothing else, except when I snubbed the social outcasts and scorned everyone else.

I panicked. I didn't even grab all the stuff I'd bought already, I just ran out of there with my purse and jacket, tossing some excuse or other over my shoulder as I left. I was suffocating on my own group...my own group, that I helped create. That I reigned over. If it was so easy for me to slip back into the old routines, the old mindsets, how am I ever going to break away from them if I want to stay friends with the Breakfast Club? Brittney, Ashley, Shannon, Jackie, Chelsey, the rest of them...they're my world. We've known each other since grade school, our mothers know each other, I've always run with them and they've always been in my circle.

But it's John, Allison, Andy, and Brian who know me.

I don't think I'm worth their time.

"_Claire? Claire? Oh my god, Claire, what are you doing out here? It's freezing! Oh my god, you're soaked! Come on back inside, the girls are waiting, we just saw this new guy, oh my god he's so cute_..._"_

Fuck. FUCK.

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_And that ends Chapter 3. I hope I managed to make all this angst somewhat believable. Not getting my hopes up, though.  
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_As always, review! Heavy criticism needed._


	4. Fear

_A long delayed Chapter 4, thanks to a) lots of procrastination, and b) lots of inappropriate plotbunnies. Sorry, everyone. Many thanks for all ya'll's kind reviews, and don't forget to review this one too._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

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You'd think Monday would be a hell of a lot more interesting after all that drama on Saturday. Five kids from five social circles, meeting each other and breaking all those barriers and so on...it doesn't happen every day, you know? I mean, with all those fucking pressures back in place on Monday, and at least Andy and me having to deal (or not deal) with all our friends, you'd expect _someone_ to be entertained. 

Yeah. I can definitely see John being entertained by high school psychodrama, even if he was in the middle of it.

Except not, because I haven't even seen any of them, except Andy and that was only briefly, in the hallway. And only because we run in the same circles.

Funny how that works out. We're perfect for each other, in a way. We're both popular richies, we know the same people, we have the same attitudes, sometimes. We both struggle with the same social pressures. And I won't deny it, Andy is very attractive...Shannon about faints every time I so much as mention him. She's convinced Andy and I are fucking soulmates or something.

But, you know, after Saturday, I wouldn't dream of it. Not even if this whole deal falls apart, even if everything that can go wrong goes wrong (it's like Bender _uses_ careless words as weapons or something, and then there's Brian and how he can't let insults roll off him, and...oh God, how is this _ever_ going to work – we're all too sensitive...).

Anyway, Andy looked over and saw me standing with Chelsey and a few other girls by my locker, and there was this question in his eyes. Like he knew why I was barely listening to the girls' chatter because I wasn't thinking about them at all. I was thinking about...well, I was thinking about John.

I still remember the kiss. Damn one-track mind. Day, night, morning, evening...ever since he _kissed_ me, it's like that single event is a core that my mind revolves around constantly. I guess, I don't know, I guess that I'll always remember it. My first, surprisingly.

God, I'm such an idiot.

I didn't have a response to Andy's question. How could I? I haven't seen any of them. I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head a tiny bit, to let him know. I guess he understood, because he nodded and left.

I hope he finds the strength to think for himself.

Better than I can do.

Shannon noticed him leaving. _"OH MY GOD, is that ANDREW CLARK? He_..._"_ and then I left, because I couldn't stand to hear her talk about Andy. I _know _how she gossips, how she thinks of him. As a mass of blond hair and muscles, a stud, to add to her fucking trophy collection...and it doesn't hurt that he's almost as popular as Justin O'Riley.

Oh God, who am I kidding? I talked the same way, I thought the same way. Hell, I made it my life's game to catch every eligible bachelor in school. Not an easy task, but it was one worthy of Claire Standish, the fucking princess. I didn't even think twice about...oh hell, I was tease. A fucking tease.

"_You said it yourself, sex is a weapon, you use it to get respect!"_

"_No, I never said that, she twisted my words around!"_

I lied. I didn't think I was lying, but John called me on every excuse. Allison did, they all did. They saw my blouses, my miniskirts. God, what a little bitch I was. Every word I said to Allison...she's no innocent, but at least she didn't pretend to be pristine. Like I did. And then tried to deny that, too.

Oh, did I say I hadn't seen any of the others? I lied. I saw John Bender in the hallway, too, and I'm such a fucking coward.

He was lounging casually against the wall, off to the side of one of the busiest intersections in the school. Everyone else was running to get to class on time (40 seconds left, I was timing it), but he...he just leaned there, arms folded, a smirk on his face that was known and feared, despised, among most of the student population. But then he saw me, too, way across the hall. Surrounded by my friends, natch.

I could have sworn I saw the smirk disappear, and his eyes flashed as I nearly passed through the intersection. I could have stopped and said hi, even across a very wide, very crowded hallway. I could have done anything, but all I did was twist around and walk backwards for a few seconds, watching him.

I couldn't help it. The look on his face...it was the same stare he'd caught me in during detention, the one I couldn't turn away from. I about had a heart attack, but then Chelsey yanked me around the corner.

"_Sweets, you couldn't ignore me if you tried."_

Nothing happened the rest of the day, but I couldn't – fucking – get him. Out. Of my head. Mrs. Withers could have been speaking Greek, Jackie could have been chattering about magpies, I could have been floating in hell for all I cared. His hair – his face – his eyes – the way metal rattled on him wherever he walked...nobody, I mean _nobody_ has put a hold on me like this.

I'm scared.

And now the day is over, and nothing's changed. Still waiting for my dearest mommy to pick me up (it won't be for another 20 minutes at least), still trapped in the same circle. Trapped in my fucking mind. Maybe I should call Allison tonight, she might understa—

"_Well, if it ain't the prom queen. Looking for a ride, Cherry?"_

Oh God.

He's still wearing my earring.


	5. Hope

_One word: review!_

_All standard disclaimers apply._

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Needless to say, I froze like a little rabbit in the glare of headlights. Or rather, under the almost-not-quite glare John was giving me. A challenge.

To see him again...speak to him...be close enough to touch him. It was too much, you know? I guess I should've expected it. I'd been obsessing over him for damn near two days, how else was I supposed to react?

"_I said, looking for a ride, Claire?"_

His voice was softer this time, and he came closer. God, I was about to have a heart attack...and I think I was ready to pass out from fear and tension and, and _desire_...

Fuck.

I think he saw my hands shaking, because he suddenly took away the textbooks I'd been clutching and set them down. And then he took my hands into his own, holding them as gently as a baby.

I looked up. I had to, after what he was _doing_ to me. I looked up into his face, his eyes...and seeing the soft, hungry, _tender_ look in those eyes, something twisted. Hard, and low in my gut.

I guess I never expected John to feel the same way about me. I mean, he was the one who kissed me, for crying out loud, but his tough guy image was such a big part of him, you know? How could John Bender, the criminal, have feelings for anybody? He already had all those girls in his wallet, the ones he was considering, so why would he even condescend to speak to the queen bitch of the school?

I sure as hell don't know. Except here I am, staring up into John's eyes and feeling a goofy grin spreading across my face, and I don't care about the reasons anymore. It's enough to know he cares...he _cares!_

I smile, and a slow smirk answers me in return.

"_Yes, John."_


	6. Strife, part 1

_In which Claire is in Claire heaven until her author decides to be evil. Not too evil, though. It takes a lot of energy to be evil. All you evil reviewers out there—review, I say!_

_A note: this chapter, unlike the others so far, is actually only half a chapter, hence Claire's cryptic remarks at the beginning. The explanation for those remarks (and the crap hitting the fan) will come in the next half. At the time of the narration of this chapter, she is no longer at the school and is recalling all of it from somewhere else, about five minutes after leaving. Bear with me here._

_A resounding thank-you goes out to all my lovely, faithful reviewers! If not for you, I wouldn't keep writing._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

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The world is crazy. That's the best explanation I can come up with right now. Totally, raving, blooming crazy. A goddamned madhouse. 

Because how else can you explain where I am now—the last place on earth I thought I'd be, even after Saturday? And it's frightening, so help me, because I've never been here before and it's terrifying and everything that's happened so far is turning my world upside down.

Well. Maybe it isn't that bad. John Bender is here, too—very, very close and I can't help enjoying that.

Though it is completely _his_ fault I'm here in the first place. Why he's doing this, I don't know and I'm still scared. He's not talking—it is kind of hard for intelligible speech right now—and I'm totally in his hands. All _I_ can do is cling to John for dear life and hope to God we don't crash and burn; he is pretty angry, or so it seemed.

The whole damned situation is kind of hysterical. The princess being abducted by her charming prince, after facing down the zombies and the dragons and enemy knights—or was it errant knights? Brian would probably know, he probably knows everything about myths and legends. God, I'm mind babbling. I don't like being thrown off balance, and _everything_ about John is putting me out of whack.

Not that I was exactly useful even back there, when the zombies came out to interrupt our sweet little moment out on the school lawn.

"_Yes, John."_

He had the grace to look slightly taken aback when I said yes so easily. How couldn't I? He was looking at me again, and I was...drowning. Funny how fast obsessions can grow in less than two days.

"_Just the answer I was...looking for, princess. _

_...I gotta ask, though. Why? Why me?" _He actually looked a little worried (though he was still half-smirking), but stayed gentle, oh so gentle.

"_Well, um, because...because. Because you're...you're John..." _Score one for me for the world's most intelligible answer! I could have smacked myself if he hadn't been holding my hands and driving most coherent thoughts out of my pretty little head. He was standing so close, so...John. Almost like I'd done back in detention when I was still trying to deny that I was attracted to that bad boy, I blushed and tried to look away.

Something about that must have pleased him, because he smiled and wrapped a hand around my waist and drew me to rest against him, his lips in my hair. Good God, I could only imagine what we looked like to the rest of the shell shocked kids on the lawn. Hell, I could barely believe it myself. And I smiled, murmuring into his denim jacket,

"_...and because I knew you wouldn't."_ A small scoff from above as he—both of us—recalled being in the closet on Saturday, but he didn't put any sting in it, and I froze. Not wanting the moment to end.

See, I told you the world was stark raving mad. Just two days ago, I would have done anything to not be in the same room the criminal was in, he was so aggravating and frustrating and...unsettling. And here we were, you know, practically wrapped around each other, and _not_ in a closet, either. It was very, very...nice.

Nice enough that I almost forgot the rest of the world. Hell, I even forgot about my crew of princesses, who happened to be approaching from behind Bender. I could see them over his shoulder—and shit, they saw us.

Damn, good times never last, do they? I wish I'd had at least a little more time with John, alone. Five minutes. Two minutes. Anything, before the shit really hit the fan.


	7. Strife, part 2

They...well, they reacted pretty much the way I expected. I think the way all of us expected. Still. Fuck. Just thinking about it makes me squeeze my eyes shut and try to wipe the whole goddamned memory out of my head.

3:45 was the time when they walked out on the school lawn. I know because the bell rings every day at 3:45. And there _we_ were, John and I, wrapped up in our world and not caring, not caring at all about what anyone else thought. For about two minutes.  
Two surreal, precious minutes before...

God, I hope Andy's not going through the same thing. He's...I think he's stronger than I am. Rumor moves fast, you know, and by the time I walked out of eighth period I'd already heard a few whispers about the basketcase. I'm glad. Hell, I'll be fucking grateful if he and Allison get together, because that'll be at least one good thing to come out of this mess we've gotten ourselves into. And...I think it'll be okay for Andy. He's a guy, guys don't giggle behind manicured fingernails, and poison your life slowly until all you want to do is lay down and die. Or go crawling back to them, begging for mercy. Guys make clean fights. Angry, aggressive, broken bones maybe, but it's over with quickly.

Oh _god_.

"_Claire? Clai—Oh. My god."_

The whispering. I think I'll always hate the whispering now. It goes on and on and on and, you know? It hurt the worst when John abruptly let go of me, like he expected me to—well, even I didn't know what I was going to do. So I didn't say anything...just kind of stood there like a goddamned idiot. Shannon burst out with a_ "What the hell?"_ but the rest stood there with confused looks on their faces.

"Claire, what are you…" 

Yeah, they couldn't believe it. Hah. I don't blame them, how could I? A few of the girls kept on with the confusion, but the rest—it was slow and quiet, at first, but I could see it. I could see the disgust, and the scorn, and the fucking sick smiles on some of their glossy lips—they couldn't _wait_ to start the new gossip. Keep the rumor mill cranking for a few weeks, few months maybe. This was the fucking _scoop_, wasn't it—the princess screwing the criminal, or it's the criminal screwing the princess. Doesn't matter.

People like Bender, Brian, and Allison hate us richies in a group, think of us as a faceless, horrible mass, but they really don't know how it is on our side of the tracks. We're as far from a group as anyone can get. I've seen my mother when she's hostessing one of her cocktail parties, and pretty much everyone who makes more than 100 grand a year is invited. Neighborly love? No fucking way. They're vicious and us kids are just weapons in their little wars, at least until we grow up and start using _our_ kids, whatever we can get our hands on, to screw everyone else over.

I'm ruined.

My parents—oh god no. I don't want to think about it, I'm not going to think about it.

Anyway, standing there on the school lawn, I wanted to get out. Get away. I probably would've broken down in tears without anyone saying a word, and I think John saw it. I think he sees everything, at least about the people he cares for. I think he cares for me. Cares for Brian, Andy, Allison. It's a thought I have to hold on to, right now, especially with my arms wrapped around him and forehead resting against his back, and the roar of his motorcycle drowns everything out but us. Something solid to remember, to block out the memory of my girls looking at me with their pretty faces. Accusing. Laughing.

I ran away. That's what I did. I fucking ran away. Shannon took a step forward and I couldn't help it, I flinched. I felt John brush the back of my hand. They both said my name at the same time. _"Claire?" "Claire."_

I was shaking and trying not to cry, and then I grabbed John's hand. I didn't have to say anything, thank God. He seemed to understand and pulled me away. We didn't stop until we got to the woods behind the football fields, where he'd stashed his bike, and then we left. That's all. We left.


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